


A Path Upon The Ground

by thebrightsingleones



Category: Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: All Caste (DCU), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Bad Decisions, Basically a normal thursday for the superhero community, Blood and Gore, Deal with a Devil, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magic, Mostly Post-crisis, Neron - Freeform, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Team Dynamics, The End of the World, Timeline What Timeline, i will face canon and walk backwards into hell, or something like that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-10-06 15:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrightsingleones/pseuds/thebrightsingleones
Summary: Jason was planning the demise of one of his teachers when an unexpected attack on Talia Al Ghul and all her operatives sidelines his carefully planned revenge. He's forced to team up with his old pen pal Eddie Bloomberg, who is on a personal hunt of his own, as they escape Deathstroke who has been contracted by the other members of Talia's family to do their dirty work. Along the way, they ally with Rose Wilson who has betrayed her father and is on the run from unsavory characters of her past. Their only goal may be to survive but this group of teenagers soon find themselves inside yet another evil plot to end the world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written because I wanted to explore what would happen if Jason during Lost Days had ties like friendship and loyalty suddenly disrupting the path towards self-destruction he was in by trying to get revenge on Bruce. Then it escalated into using some ideas from the New 52 Outlaws, mostly the All Caste, and trying to reconcile it with Eddie's canon story and the period of Rose's life where nothing happens. Then it got out of hand.

There used to be a time when questioning his own motive for heroic acts was not only inconceivable but pointless. Justice, truth or the idea of good were the only explanation. Or at least the one moral enough to justify the drive inside to stop the suffering of another.

Stripped bare of all the colorful protection those beliefs had given, one death and resurrection later, Jason found his own truth.

It’s the memory of everything ugly, wrong and unfair that’s ever happened to him transformed into action.

The musings are brought by crouching on the branch of a tree watching from a window how forty-two drugged children are being trafficked in the middle of nowhere Germany and deciding that he’s going to do something about it. Regardless of how it might affect him in the future.

In such a situation, without backup or true power, there’s even less space within him for the idealistic values of his childhood. They all deserve to be safe, to have homes they can return to and be loved. But it hardly ever works that way.

Because of the actions of people working outside the law Lady Justice has replaced her blindfold with a mask. But with it comes a set of all too human or alien morality. And as it stands she would certainly not approve of Jason's new methods even if it helps rid the world of beasts like Egon.

Capturing him with minimum force, building a case, seems meaningless. He’ll go through a system that sees this kind of trafficker as minimal concerns, with all the super-powered maniacs running around, only to be set free after paying a hefty sum. A revolving door.

Jason decides he can’t get them out using the tiny window, it’s winter and he’s pretty sure what they’re wearing can barely be considered clothing.

Whenever they're moving the kids, they must have it scheduled somewhere. Egon’s office is not far from the cottage, and he wants the rest of the information almost as much as getting the kids out. It's not impossible that Egon is working alone but it’s unlikely, and trafficking rings are a lot like hydras.

A rustle coming from the canopy above is the only warning he gets before something jumps out and brings him to the ground.

Impacting against the snow doesn’t hurt, but the way it begins to absorb into his clothing and chill his skin makes him gasp. Training with Egon and his sociopathic tendencies has been exhausting. Being thrown around and pinned down has left him a mosaic of bruises that don’t react well to the cold.

Jason grits his teeth against the dull ache and looks towards his assailant, expecting to find a guard or in the most extreme of cases, one of Ra’s assassin’s coming to eliminate his one and only Madness-Jacuzzi partner.

But what stares at him with beady red eyes isn’t human looking. It’s membranous wings connect to something like a chest. With hind limbs of reptilian nature and a long tail swishing behind -both prehensile like a chameleon’s. The head disturbingly reminds Jason of some deep sea creature but with stretched thin white skin instead of scales.

Its mouth opens to screech, with rows upon rows of little pointy teeth. Jason resists the urge to cover his ears. He sees as lights turn on inside the cabins, people running through the wooden floors and shouting. But all Jason can do is stare at the creature’s red eyes.

It's an intimidating two meters of grotesque bulging muscle underneath translucent skin, and it is staring right at him.

He scrambles to his knees to get up but the creature is faster than him. Leaps from the tree to his position and no more than a second later he is pinned by a massive wing, struggling as the monster slobbers over his face. Rotten eggs and ammonia marking the creature’s severe halitosis.

He doesn’t know why nature saw fit to make every abomination abysmally stronger than the average human being. And despite the training, diet and magical green water he doesn’t pack the strength to throw it off.

It positions itself behind him and bites his right shoulder before he can attempt to escape. Teeth dig in like little needles and hook as it drags him away from the cabins. He can't help his scream.

As he's dragged away he tries digging his heels in but they keep sliding. Then with his left hand, he tries holding into whatever he finds but the cold quickly makes his hand go numb, snow turning it slippery and useless.

The more he moves, the more the maw around his shoulder increases the pressure, grinding uncomfortably against his clavicle.

A bad day to leave the guns behind.

As his feet make irregular marks across the snow he notices the creature is taking him to the dense woods around.

They’re halfway there when the first building erupts in fire. It’s not the children’s cabin but the buildings are very close to each other, worryingly so. Jason stares as orange rises against the night’s sky. The creature hastens it's crawling.

A new urgency creeps under his skin, the kids.

The change between the man-made clearing and the forest is noticeable. There’s more moisture in the air but less white around and Jason grabs the first thing he can loosen from the forest floor: conveniently its a rock.

He grabs it hard enough for it to dig into his palm, then swings it towards the thing’s head where he remembers one of the eyes being.

It doesn’t let him go, as Jason’s hand gets soaked with sticky eye liquid and blood. It just keeps grinding its teeth, sending bolts of agony through him. In return, Jason keeps digging the rock in until he feels the bite loosening up.

Its whimper is almost as shrill as the screeching. Jason moves his left shoulder to dislodge it only for the creature to suddenly bite harder than it had before.

He hears the snap of his own clavicle before he even feels it. His second scream of the night ends with a shiver, pain increasing from dull to piercing every time the creature drags him further into the forest.

He stares at green-white canopy overhead with dizzy appreciation. It’s kind of pretty, under the circumstances.

When it finally lets him go, the relief is short-lived as he's thrown against a tree, he hits his head and ends up laying on the snow again until a clawed leg holds him by the neck and squeezes.

His hands automatically try to dig into the off-white ankle, trying to get it to let go. Or rather that's what he should be doing but only manages desperate clawing.

The creature's face is a mess, the mutilated eye still pulsing black goop and when it hisses at him Jason finally gets it. The thing is not more than an animal, like a dog following orders. He doesn't pity it per se, since it may have broken or at least dislocated his collarbone.

He really doesn't want to die again, knowing that it may be because of a glorified pet just makes it worse.

Crafting a plan is hard, but not impossible. However, there’s nothing around he can use in such a vulnerable position, especially when the force around his throat increases and his vision starts to blur at the edges.

His old friend asphyxia makes his mind go unexpectedly blank before reminders of Ethiopia and the Lazarus Pit dance behind his eyelids in a haze that mixes together with the padded confines of a coffin and mud entering his mouth, clogging his throat.

Jason is not aware of what happens after that. Numbing panic overtakes him. He thinks he passes out.

So when he gets his shit somewhat together, notices he’s very not dead and that everything is kind of dark he moves his arm, trying to search around with his hands for any sign of wood, metal or stone. After all, there's a theme around his sudden awakenings.

Instead, he finds a pine cone, cold seeping in through his front meaning he’s probably still in the forest. Feeling stupid he rolls over, breathes in smoke and blood and reminds himself last time his mind was upside he was actually being threatened by some kind of monster.

Registering the pained panting comes next. He turns towards the sound and sees the creature digging its charred right wing into the snow.

He blinks, rather owlishly, at the bright red figure standing near the creature. It’s devil-like figure and is using a hand encompassed in flame, to threaten the equally hellish thing that’s cowering towards the trees.

“Where is he?” A fireball sizzles against the snow where a tail had been and the creature shakes with fear.

He doesn’t think its sympathy, but it's close enough to try to stand up and do something.

Another pitiful sound, another blast of fire, the thin membrane of one of the wings has a hole now. The guy, he’s quite certain he’s a guy now that he’s heard his voice and his vision is less blurry, asks the question again. The creature, of course, says nothing.

Jason is 90% sure it can't even understand him.

He takes the pinecone and throws it at the guy, barely brushing him. The distraction, however, gives the creature enough time to slip away using the trees around.

The guy is now looking at Jason, taking careful steps towards him as to not spook him. He looks like one of the most favorable illustrations of demons, horns and tail included. But no goat legs or other unsavory animal appendages. He's also just wearing jeans, in the winter, in Germany.

“Why did you do that?” the guy asks, clearly offended. “That thing tried to kill you!”

If Jason killed everyone who has ever tried to kill him he’s quite sure he’d lose half of his acquaintances.

The voice is creepily familiar, and it doesn’t end there. The white hair is misleading but when the guy gets closer to actually check up on him a smattering of darker red freckles ruins the image of supernatural evilness instantly.

The eyes are black and yellow but it’s not a stretch to imagine them green again. It’s hard to forget your best friend’s face.

He thinks about saying something heartfelt or even smart. But his pen pal is very, very red and has a tail that doesn’t look mechanic in the slightest bit. “What the fuck, Eddie?”

It comes out garbled and sounds even worse than in his head. But Kid Devil seems to get the gist of it, seriously the dorky almost Halloween costume wasn’t that bad, this new thing borders on terrifying. “Well, hello to you too.”

“You’re red.” Oxygen deprivation truly does horrible things to scrambled minds.

“You’re alive,” Eddie says, just as casual, presses a hand against Jason’s collarbone. It’s warm enough that he feels it through his hoodie. The pained sound is completely involuntary but it makes the other teenager quickly retract his hand. “And you’re bleeding.” Apparently, they’re leaving the important questions for another time.

Jason shrugs the action making his ribs hurt. “I’ll be fine.” He tries to walk and staggers, but he can't let that stop him, the kids need him. Eddie tries to help but he just pushes his hand away. “What are you doing here?” He asks, mostly to distract the other teen as he tries to casually lean against a nearby tree.

“You mean aside from saving your life?” It’s not that he isn’t happy to see Eddie again, but it’s very hard to search for enthusiasm inside himself after being almost choked to death. Eddie sighs and tries to coax Jason away from his tree. Prompts him to use him as a crutch. But no, Jason is getting his second wind any time now.

“Following a lead,” is Eddie's strained answer before true anger shines through “A lead you just let escape.”

“It wasn’t going to answer you.” Jason also wasn’t planning on being confrontational but here he is. “You’d have killed it without getting any information.”

Eddie brushes long white hair from his forehead. “Believe me, the world would be better off without such a pest.”

He opens his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue but changes his mind. No time for an argument. With his legs steadier, he lets go of his comfy tree and cringes as he jostles his collarbone. He’s going to need a sling at the very least. “You need someone to look at your shoulder.”

Pure bitterness is what makes Jason glare at his now taller friend. He’s got at least 10 centimeters on Jason now. He used to be taller. Supernatural puberty is a bitch.

“Shouldn’t you be tracking that?” He points to the path the creature took with his uninjured arm. It is probably returning to its owner, whomever that may be. “Maybe it will turn to be more useful alive.” Then begins to follow his own track mark towards the compound.

Eddie takes a long look at the claw marks and broken branches, then at Jason. “It came after you, do you know why?”

Jason shakes his head, he can’t afford the distraction. “No,” he answers.

“See you around, Eddie.” he turns to leave but the other teen blocks his path, reaches out for him. Flinching is a reflex, but Eddie still frowns in that way that preceded heartfelt conversations at 3 am. He knows that he should be endeared because that's what it used to evoke in him. But he's drawing a blank on the feelings department.

There’s an ever-present disconnection between his old life and whatever it is that he does now that has plagued Jason since the pit. Life still doesn’t feel right, if that makes any sense whatsoever, but it doesn’t feel wrong enough for him to do anything extreme about it.

“Move,” even with the urgency he really doesn’t want to hurt Eddie. They had been friends, once upon a lifetime.

If they were still friends Jason would’ve asked what the hell happened to him. However, whatever Eddie is doing, whatever he got himself into, is no longer Jason’s businesses.

“Jason, listen-” Aren’t those the magic words to have him do the exact opposite. “I can help if that thing comes back.”

“I don’t need your help.” he snaps as if he hadn’t been dead meat back there before Eddie showed up.

“They're looking for you.” Eddie's words remind him of the night on top of Titans Tower when they met. How he had said those same words, even if the context is different. He can't even remember what he did to anger Dick into a tower wide manhunt but he hopes it was worth the subsequent lecture.

The reminder causes a certain kind of anger, bitter and pit green. As with everything else deemed meaningless by a crowbar to the skull.

He lets Eddie put a hand on his good shoulder. “You’re in danger,” he insists as if he doesn't know that. Gets closer like he’s going for a hug, but they'd never been the hugging type. People change, they’re the living example that it’s not always for the better. He almost wishes he hadn’t seen Eddie bracing himself to try to grab him, whatever answers he wants Jason doesn't have them.

Eddie still tries, probably to prevent an escape. So when he shoves him to the ground by the neck, using Eddie’s superior weight against him, he's certain he should feel worse about it.

An icy glare coming from Eddie is what he gets in response, but really, the guy should know better. He wasn’t Robin because he looked good in the suit. The creature had been a fluke, taking him by surprise, a mistake he wouldn’t allow himself to repeat.  “Don’t follow me,” Jason threatens, trying to intimidate him into complying, then he walks towards the camp.


	2. Chapter 2

A certain kind of bitter revelation can only come after being slammed into the ground (either literally or metaphorically) by your best friend. Sometimes… you really suck.

It can be something simple like being called out about canceling plans for the fifteenth time because you'd like to stew on your depressive juices alone -he's really sorry about not answering Zachary's calls -or, more extremely, being foiled in your own attempted kidnapping of them.

He considers just staying there, making a soup of the snow around him as his two leads slip away from his grasp. Poetic justice of some sort. But no; real life won't give him a dramatic zoom out and time skip to when he's done screwing up his own plans -and relationships.

Pride now wounded he stands and walks in the direction marked by fallen leaves and crushed branches. The monster, hoping that Jason is right, may lead him straight to his owner from hell.

He stops.

_Jason_.

He can take care of himself, but he's injured. _Usually_ , not even that stops him. Except he has died before.

It's the image of a grave he never visited, a funeral he wasn't invited to and the letters he burnt after they were sent back to him, that makes him turn around. It's a very bad idea to get sidetracked now after weeks of endless tracking, but his feet are already picking up speed.

The smell of burnt flesh and wood hits him before he even gets to the clearing. Jason casts a lone dark figure between the trees and against the thick smoke coming from smoldering wood.

Eddie maintains his distance, convinced his presence has been noted and are archived as annoying but not threatening, and follows him into what used to be a camp of some sorts. At least four cabins that he can see, now nothing but ashes and splinters.

He hears him whisper under his breath. Drag the hand of his good arm through tousled black waves and tug. _Too valuable_ , his enhanced hearing picks up, _wouldn't have left them to die_.

Scanning the surroundings leads him to a single possible conclusion: the garage. It's a concrete monstrosity with manual double doors, no windows, no other entrances. The separation from the rest of the camp means it wasn't even touched by the fire.

Jason is running in that direction before Eddie can suggest it. Eddie decides to hurry and walks through the cabin's remains instead of going around, the heat barely registering until something snaps underfoot. He almost takes a look but Jason, after turning his head at the noise, shakes his head at him, a warning. 

Eddie abstains himself from even glancing and walks until he's beside the other teen, facing the doors. God, what if it was a skull? 

“I told you not to follow me.”

“I'm not a great listener.”

Jason tugs ineffectively at the doors, one-handed. “They're locked,” he announces, irritated.

“I can see that.” Predictably, Jason huffs taking a couple of steps back and trying to look at the problem from another angle. Eddie just shoves past him, hitting his good shoulder deliberately. _Watch this,_ he'd say if Jason didn't suddenly look like he'd topple over if the wind picked up.

He settles for grabbing one of the doors and ripping it from its hinges, throwing it aside with little consideration of where it might land. When he looks over his shoulder Jason looks more mildly surprised than awed but compared to the previous irritation it's an improvement. 

“Meta?”

“More like an upgrade, it's a long story-”

“Forget I asked. I don't want to know.” Alright then. _Asshole_.

The inside is dark, too dark even for Eddie's new eyesight, a couple of steps in melted snow splash as he walks deeper into it. Something feels very wrong about the whole place. Jason doesn't take long finding a switch, the jarring white lights spurting to life thanks to a generator that starts making noise immediately.

Turns out the squelch wasn't water after all.

Between a couple of trucks and a sports car, lies a massacre. At least 9 people are sprawled on the floor in numerous states of dismemberment.  It doesn't appear to bother his companion at all, who just takes care to avoid the corpses but not the puddles of red. For his part, Eddie tries to be a little more careful than that.

Propped against the back wall is a blond man, somehow still alive. Eddie can see his chest rising and falling in deep, pained breathes. A gash dissects his abdomen deep enough to show the squirming pink of his insides.

Jason and the man stare at each other until the man decides to speak. “Look who decided to show up!”

“Someone got you before I did,” Jason says in lieu of an acknowledgment. “What happened?”

“Oh, just some of our old friends.”

"What did they do to the kids?" So there are kids involved in this, now he gets what the hurry was all about. 

“What kids?” He smiles like he's got nothing to lose. The man brings a bottle of cherry energy drink to his lips. He's not even a sip in when Jason grabs him by the hair and slams his head against the wall.

"Egon..." he warns. 

“They inspected our product but didn't take anything, they appear to like them a little older, gray-eyed, wilder…” Egon, even half dead already, manages to leer at Jason in a way that makes Eddie want to punch him. “Can't say I blame them.”

So someone _is_ looking for Jason. 

Jason lets go to Egon's apparent regret. “Where's your spirit? We were just starting to have some fun.” Why is it always the creeps? He takes another infuriating sip of the energy drink, smacks his lips. "You're nothing but trouble. If anything happened to them, remember it was you the assassins came looking for. You can look in the big truck, but I can't guarantee a pretty sight”

Eddie hopes they're alive. No one wants to see little cadavers.

The man surprises him by calling to him after Eddie begins to follow Jason. “And who are you?” The human trafficker asks. “Did you come to drag us all down to the fiery pits?”

Slowly hemorrhaging from the belly is a horrible way to die. He reminds himself of that, but only after he kicks the energy drink out of Egon's hands. 

Eddie rushes to open the back of the truck before Jason can work out the logistics. He finds alive children inside, sitting with their backs against the sides of the box. Their eyes get trained on him and some instantly start crying. One boy even begins to shriek but an older looking girl hugs him and covers his mouth to muffle the noise. Her eyes are puffy red but dry. 

Jason shoves him aside to get inside the truck. A round of frantic whispering erupts among the still clearly drugged population. He kneels in front of the crying girl, speaks to her a language Eddie doesn't know in a soft soothing tone. She lets go of the other kid and breaks down. Hugging her knees as the rest of them look on, her sobs don't even let her breathe. 

Looking at her with the light coming in from outside he can see she's by far the most injured. Cuts, scrapes, even burns. Angry purple marks that Eddie doesn't want to linger on. He averts his gaze towards the ceiling, they're just kids. 

Jason extends his hand, settling it palm up between them, even gives her a small smile. She doesn't take it but looks at it for a while, speaks in a small voice what sounds like a question. Just as Jason is retracting his hand she laces their pinkies together and squeezes.

Frozen to the spot Eddie can only see as Jason gives a tiny nod and squeezes back.

Another couple of sentences and Jason climbs out of the truck. Eddie closes it silently and when their eyes meet he has no words to say. 

Jason goes after Egon.

He knows how everyone’s been acting, within the Titans and other superhero groups. Shoving the tragedy of someone so young into categories they can live with, he was either _violent_ , _reckless_ , or severely lacking in all aspects including moral heroism. Easy to blame someone who can’t protest. Or appeal insanity in a court. 

So, of course, it shouldn’t come as a surprise when Egon is not a bloody pulp on the floor _yet_. Instead, he’s just being held by the hair again, Jason’s angry snarl inches away from his face. “Make this easy on yourself,” he starts, an out of place amusement coming from the words, “tell me who do you get your supply from.” Letting him go is a mistake because the man uses the opportunity to tackle Jason to the ground with him. 

“And if I don’t, what are you gonna do? Kill me?” Egon raises a red-stained hand and grabs Jason’s chin, digging long nails into his cheeks. Eddie wants to intervene but a glare stops him, he really hopes Jason knows what he’s doing. In fact, Eddie knows he does, he trusts him as stupid as it might sound. 

“I’ll tell you what I’d do,” starts Egon, taking a knife from his calf, movements slow and dazed. “I’d take this knife, dig it deep into this wound.” He mimics the shape of it over Jason. “Pull and hack a little piece of whatever comes out and feed it to me. What will make me crack first, disgust or pain?”

“You might bleed to death before you can tell me.”

Egon rolls off Jason, lies down so he can stare at the ceiling, frowning. “What do you really want for the names?” Jason asks.

“You already know.”

After a long period of consideration, Egon just gestures him to come closer. Jason ends up kneeling beside him, doesn’t fight when the man brings his head down by tugging at his hair to whisper something directly to his ear. It’s too low for Eddie to pick but it makes Jason smile.

Jason kneels beside the cherry drink Eddie spilled and makes a show of picking up the gun of some good, shaking it a couple of times to dislodge the excess fluids covering it. He checks the cartridge, puts it inside, clicks the safety off. Egon is smiling the whole time. “C’mon kid, you know you want to do it.” Jason hesitates, looks back at Eddie. He tries to communicate it with a look, the man is already dead, there’s no reason to shoot him.

Instead, he aims at Egon's head. “I see there is hope for you yet.”

The only answer Jason gives is the bullet that embeds itself between Egon’s eyebrows.

Eddie jumps at the sound. Can only stare at his friend as he puts the safety on again and lets the gun clatter to the ground. He turns around and can't meet Eddie's eyes as he orders, “Get in the car,” with a strained voice.

Eddie obeys, gets inside the tiny cabin of the truck with a little effort. His tail gets crushed between the seat and his back, making him wince. Jason ends up hotwiring the car and when he decides he can’t drive with his arm as is, shoves Eddie to the driver seat. When his hands end up over the steering wheel they're shaking. Eddie licks his lips, “Jason-”

Would it be a bad moment to say he’s driven like 4 times in total?

“We're not talking about it.” Yes, it’s definitely a bad time to mention it at all. They pull away from the garage, slowly.

Jason doesn’t complain about the speed when they take the opening in the forest that was the access route that Egon had been using to get to and from civilization.

The trees thicken as they go. Eddie is distracted trying to remember what the instructors at the Institute of Hypernormal Conflict Studies tried to teach him. He's so concentrated on not fucking up the manual transmission that almost misses Deathstroke leaning casually against a tree. He holds a hand up in mocking salute and Jason doesn’t have to tell him for Eddie to slam his feet against the accelerator.

Jason turns his head as they pass by, a certified brooding bat-glare on his face.

Eddie doesn’t slow down until they make it to a highway. Oh, joy, more driving.


	3. Chapter 3

Her tiny exhales release puffs of warm vapor to the frigid woods around her. The scope of her rifle is lined perfectly with the passenger of the truck but there’s no signal to complete the mission, no follow up command comes from her father. She doesn't shoot.

Initiative with a man like Slade Wilson only gets you killed faster.

She stays there, body lined up with the branch below, as the truck leaves. The trail of smoke fading from the horizon. She keeps the position, hears Slade pacing around beneath her. “Well, this finally got interesting.” He mutters to himself. Like any self-respecting masked weirdo ought to every once in a while.

“Rose,” Slade’s voice isn't as harsh as she had been expecting, the  _ amusement  _ in it is uncommon; she's pretty damn sure it only means bad news for everyone involved. “Let's go tie up some loose ends.”

She drops down from the tree as graceful as she can. Walks side by side with her father as they go further into the woods.

Their little base is only one in name and because three assassins are tied together in the middle. The white grotesque monster Slade's employer had let them borrow is beside them, guarding.

Somehow the injuries make it look worse, feat Rose hadn’t thought possible.

The youngest of Al Ghul’s children, Talia, had sent her own troop to warn her protege. They had been useful in helping clean up the place, the bloody path they had carved made their job easier.

It's true that her father likes getting the measure of his targets before acting. Taking them head on and all that. An  _ honorable _ hunter. She doesn’t know why he didn’t finish the deed.

One of the assassins, the leader, says: “You let him go.” The grin on her face makes her look pleased. “You are getting predictable, Deathstroke.”

“Are those your words or your master’s?”

“Mine,” she answers, “well, for the most part. She said you might recognize a long-term investment.”

He scoffs, but the hint of a smile tugs at his lips. They stare at each other for a few seconds. “Shall I do the honors?” Her father says, unstrapping his gun from his hip. 

“Might as well, my hands are pretty much tied.” She shows her rope covered wrists like it's the greatest joke in existence.

The other two women don't even blink as her father points a gun to them and proceeds to shoot both their stoic faces. “They were good.” Slade concedes.

“Not our best agents, but they were getting there.” If she's feeling anything, Rose can't read it on her face. “What are you waiting for? Getting sentimental in your old age?”

“No.” He raises his arm.

“One more thing: don’t trust her.”

“Duly noted.”  Rose takes a couple of steps back, looks away. It's not the bang or the blood but the peaceful expression on her ruined face.

Rose knows that the kind of loyalty that makes you stare unblinkingly at the barrel of a gun exists, having ideals you might sacrifice everything for. But Rose's never felt that much for anything, especially not at the cost of her own life.

The closest thing she's got is the pendant hanging from her neck and even that had gotten derailed by the training and her new glamorous life as a mercenary's sidekick.

It's a fault in her design, considering her two dead brothers seemed very dedicated to their respective ideals. “Did you know her?” She asks, staring at pink snow like it would make any difference.

Her father takes off his mask, stuffs it in one of the many pockets of his suit. Rose wouldn't venture to describe as regret whatever troubled expression crosses his face. “Not really.”

Slade turns to leave but not before saying the thing Rose has been fearing for a while. “Take care of that thing” He points to the monster. “ Meet me back at the apartment in two hours, I have business to attend to.”

She watches as he leaves, the woods around appear darker after that. Rose is not a coward by any stretch of the word but she has become accustomed to her father's overbearing presence. And she really doesn't like snowy forests on principle.

He's not the kind of man -they don't have the kind of relationship -that makes her feel safe, that drives the nightmares away.

In those, the torn teddy bear still lies on top of the pretty purple bedding she had chosen when her mom finally started letting her decide stupid things like which color to paint her bedroom or what sticky glowing figures to put on her ceiling (stars, aligned in real constellations thanks to her astronaut phase). Both had been covered in too much blood to even attempt to wash it away.

The nightmares are a reminder that the hunt for her head is real. The wretched rage of a mother scorned and the psychotic delusions of an asshole that somehow survived the fall that killed her mother.

So her father, even if in DNA only, is a good shield against that.

Wintergreen's advice before she got taken to the Titans rings true. Slade might not be a good man and makes a lousy parent, but he'll always stand by his word.

Following him halfway across the world and making him promise the kind of things that no one should ask of anyone, nothing short of the impossible had worked for her. It’s the reason why she wears his colors now.

She feels something might jump her from the shadows but beside her, there's only three cadavers, a big monster and the gentle hooting of some almost extinct owl species.

Rose stands in front of her new assignment, the high pitched nasal whine unsettling. It's a tool, to be used by them and the spying eyes of their employer. But it is very much alive at the same time, and even when she's killed before -as Rose Worth first and then as Deathstroke's apprentice -she knows it should feel more like dumping a lobster in boiling water than the murder of a peer.

Well, a good thing about Lobsters is that they don't scream.

She raises her rifle, aims at the head and shoots two times. The creature flinches but doesn't drop dead. It tilts its head like Rose does sometimes, the echoes of her own expression of confusion in the creature make her unload two more shots at the chest.

It only staggers back. 

She's ignoring the noise to the best of her abilities. Rearranging the riffle to hang at her side, she unsheathes her sword, takes a breath, and moves in for a quick decapitation.

It closes its working eye, bracing itself, and the lobster analogy falls apart in her mind. She hesitates, and that has the angle of her sword entering all wrong at the neck. It gets stuck to the vertebra, the force of the swing, the weight of her sword and that of the creature topples her sideways along with it.

She kneels there, in the snow, the sword stuck in deep tissue.

Somehow it still hasn't shut up.

A single red eye stares at her, as the black goo runs from the wound to the guard and stains her hands.

She gets to her feet, moving her stuck blade around. It doesn't budge and Rose is left to put her shiny new boot against the monster's chest and pull.

The lazy gurgle of blood is like watching a toppled inkwell.

Another hit in the same spot. The head detaches and rolls about half a meter away.

The gooey mess clings to her hands and clothes. It's impossible to shake off or wipe away.

A severed head lacks a larynx and lungs but sounds are definitely coming from it. It is a chanting that makes goosebumps start across her skin.  

In between verses of gibberish she can hear a  _ Rose _ , and her breath hitches.

Her palms start to sweat even in the cold. Her boots squelch as she nears it. Pushes it with the tip of her steeled toe to have the red eye face the sky.

It's hurting her brain; the song reverberating through her skull. It needs to stop.

One, two, three stomps with the heel of her boot, to the spot between the eyes and above the maxilla, where the nose would be if it had one. It caves in, sharp bone creating shallow scratches in the leather of her boots.

Shards of bone stick out parchment paper yellow. The pulpy mess of black and gray tissue not unlike a specimen dumped in a jar full of formaldehyde.

But at last, there is silence.

* * *

When she gets back to the cabin her father is finishing a call. She's exactly one minute late and makes a lot of noise as she enters.

The first thing to go down is the gym bag with her dirty equipment. It's pink and purple, the style of the year are vivid neons mixed with each other. A stylized  _ L  _ is the shiny logo of the sports brand owned by LexCorp, she had thought it was funny when she bought it. 

She drags it behind her to the kitchen sink. She has armor to clean, a blade to sharpen and things to burn.

Her father doesn't pause the call at her presence, doesn't even lower the volume. It is on Rose to obey: do not listen to my conversations.

From the bag in the corridor that holds all her earthly possessions, she pulls out her noise-canceling headphones, intending to follow said orders. Gets her phone out, connects them and starts some music.

She sets to work, dumping the upper part of her uniform and running the tap to dampen the fabric. From the array of bottles in front of her, she chooses an order of experimentation. Hydrogen peroxide, vinegar, stain remover, and ammonia as a last resort.

Instead of turning on the noise cancellation feature she decides to do the opposite, boosting the outside noise to eavesdrop. She's suspicious, it's not every day that her father leaves a job incomplete.

“I have news of my sister’s spawn. We need him dealt with along this  _ pet  _ of hers, of course, you'll be compensated appropriately.” 

“I'm all ears.”

Consequently, he’s also all pockets. She’s scrubbing hard as she listens, the force it's taking to get the mess from her chest piece has painted her hands an angry shade or red. 

“He's being guarded in one of my father's old lairs, I think you'll remember this one.” Rose steals a glance to the laptop to see a big construction, a weird cross between a palace and a temple, in the middle of a jungle, “My sister has her elite guarding him, I trust it won't be a problem?”

“As long as the kid's still there.”  _ Kid?  _ She thinks, frowning to herself as she turns the water on and starts scrubbing her gauntlets.

“Oh, they will be there. Talia won't resist having them both with her. My sister has grown soft.”  Their employer, Nyssa Raatko doesn't appear all too intimidated with whatever her sister may do. Which is misguided in its own way when Talia Al Ghul has proven herself to be capable to hold half the League under her thumb against her father and sister, with the likes of Lady Shiva on her side.

_Kid._ Rose stops scrubbing, a lot of people fall as a kid in her father's eyes. But the way he'd used the word makes her stomach churn.

“I'll send you the information,” Nyssa tells Slade, “do not fail this time.”

Before cutting the connection she warns. “Take care of your girl.”

Rose stares at her father as he slams shut the laptop with more force than necessary and looks around the room. He picks up what little mess there is, arranging most of the place the way they found it.

He enters the kitchen, gets near Rose and pushes one of the noise-canceling headphones away from her ear. “I'm going out; you want anything to eat?”

She hums, thinking about the possibilities, then goes for the easiest one. “Pizza?” Then, after a couple of seconds of Slade's unbelieving stare, “Think you can get it New York style?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he turns to the door, warns her “I’ll be back soon; unless there's an alien invasion outside, do not open the door.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Promise I won't burn the house down, either.” That gets her a genuine smile before he disappears from view. She looks down, somewhere between embarrassed and pleased. Even though she knows she shouldn't. She only had one parent and her name was Lily Worth.

She's preparing her whetstone, after cleaning up the rest of her gear, in the middle of a song she can't relate to when curiosity finally gets the best of her.

She checks the hour, decides that her father's  _ soon _ and the time he's already spent away gives her between half an hour and forty-five minutes.

Carefully, turning to the door every minute or so, she opens the computer, enters the passcode she's not supposed to know and goes to Deathstroke's mail.

There are even more codes to get through and she sends her thanks to Wintergreen -wherever the man is  -for giving them to her.

He has six unread messages. Three have no contact name, the subject just lists an exorbitant amount of money. Another just says  _ URGENT _ and the name is the kind of ridiculous you can come to expect from the two-bit villains that roam the world.

The last two are the interesting ones. The sender identifies themselves as  _ NR _ . For such an imposing presence her emails are just a couple of words and attached files. The first one she sent is a profile on Talia Al Ghul. What kind of family has profiles of their own members?

She reads pretty normally for a master assassin, her training is not detailed other than an almost ironic:  _ most dangerous woman alive. _ There's a couple of notes attached at the bottom, but even if Rose understood more than a rudimentary Arabic -as in can read and recognize a few words -the letters don't even look like the ones her mother made her memorize.

The other mail contains two files. One for an  _ unknown _ with no photo or id. It's practically just a list of very dangerous people that have allegedly trained this John Doe that her father seemed to recognize for some reason. There’s only one name that Rose recognizes, and it's enough to gain a semblance of respect for the guy. Seeing  _ Sandra Wu-San _ makes her shiver.

She's met Lady Shiva, seen her work, and she'd be happy if she never crossed paths with her again.

Damian Al Ghul is pretty much what her father said, a  _ kid _ . The number displayed at the  _ age _ section reads like a bad joke.

_ Eight _ .

When Rose was eight she was hung up on cartoons and dumb TV programs. Even with all her training and homeschooling her mother's intention never was to turn her into some kind of weapon or instrument.

Damian already has 3 confirmed kills under his name.

The photo is of a very cute kid, his skin tone very similar to his mother's, along with the bright green eyes and high cheekbones. But everything else probably comes from the father. Even the darker hair compared to Talia's chestnut.

Rose erases all evidence of her login from the computer.

The gray area her father navigates through, straddling the line between opportunistic heroism and harmful neutrality, depends a lot on following some kind of personal moral code.

She doesn't know Slade's but she knows her own. And she draws the line at killing literal children if nothing else.

A kid, assassin or not, did not deserve to die because of some succession line drama.

Disparagingly she realizes her father isn't going to stop. His reputation precedes him, he'll always see his jobs to the bitter end.

She makes a choice she hopes not to regret when she packs up and leaves.  

 


	4. Chapter 4

After about four hours inside the truck, he finally admits there's no way to get comfortable in the leather seat, every bruise and laceration in contact with the cushion begs for some minimal medical attention. Some kind of anesthetic or simply to be clean so that it can stop itching. 

Instead, his shirt clings to his skin tacky with blood and adhered to the jagged puncture of the monster’s teeth as the blood clots together. 

Jason’s personal experience with being bloody, cold and dirty is not exactly making the ordeal easier, memories adding another layer of the kind of wrongness that can and has made him stare unresponsive at a wall for hours. He’s also sure that it's not healthy to associate such discomfort with childhood nostalgia. 

Because of said useless sentiment, the German highway could use a little bit of Gotham, acid rain mixing with puddles of motor oil, smog and the barely concealed smell of piss instead of the darkened green of the grass and the occasional lights from a town or a city. 

If Eddie is bothered by his constant twitching he doesn’t make it overly apparent. In the privacy of his mind and now that he knows the kind of threat after them, Jason can allow himself to admit the whole thing is out of his league and weirding him out. 

Eddie has an actual tail now, that betrays his mood. It hasn’t stopped moving from point A in the seat between them to point B just a couple of centimeters apart. Like a cat when it wants to lie down but remains alert and ready to bolt at any given moment. It’s relatable. 

“About that  _ thing _ back there…” It almost makes him laugh,  _ that thing _ , so many things in his life have been censored that way that he needs context now. “You do that now?” 

Jason is instantly on the defensive, the barely concealed judgment getting under his skin much easier than expected. “He was going to die anyway.” 

Eddie’s whole face does a thing between a frown and a grimace, gripping the steering wheel just a bit tighter,  “That’s not what I asked.” 

“Guess I do, is that a problem?” He meets Eddie’s glowing yellow eyes through the rearview mirror. 

The scoff coming from his mild-mannered pen pal bends reality; Jason being in the receiving end of that anger, not his parents or some asshole that dared question Dan Cassidy or Marla Bloom. It’s so absurd it completely belongs in another dimension. “Is murder ever not a problem?” 

“You’re acting as if he didn’t deserve it, he was selling children to slavery.” It doesn’t cause the reaction he expected, almost desired, it’s easy to have people mad at you. Eddie inclines his head in a small concession. 

“You could have let him die” 

“I was planning on doing it anyway,” it’s not much of an explanation, it’s honest though. “And agonizing isn’t quite as fun as it looks like.”  Maybe it’s the way he said it but Eddie just looks like someone punched him in the gut. 

“Are you alright?” 

Jason almost bites his own tongue as he stifles the response born out of the aggression he’s lately been wearing like a second skin. The result isn’t much better. “Do I look alright to you?” 

“Honestly you look like shit,”  _ Yours Truly, Kid Devil.  _ “But I was talking about up here.” He takes one of his hands of the wheel to tap the side of his head. And Jason would truly feel offended if it wasn’t a known thing between them that even back then he was a prickly bundle of issues in a gaudy costume. 

Outside the grass suddenly turns very interesting. “It’s not a big deal, he was just scum.”

“So was the balcony guy,” it hadn’t stopped Jason from agonizing for weeks about not catching Garzonas, translated in an extra page in their correspondence, up until he left to find his mother. It’s different now, maybe because he has nothing left to lose. 

“I’m fine.” He’s not sure it's enough to effectively end the conversation, so he adds “Take the next exit to the left.” It distracts Eddie with the entertaining benefit of watching him fumble his way through changing lanes appropriately even if the road is empty. If the little detour is going to add about 15 minutes to their trek he’s never claimed not to be petty. 

The amount of vehicles keeps increasing up until the moment they get to the outsides of Berlin. It’s early enough that other motorists barely spare more than a surprised glance to the literal devil driving cargo into their city.  

His knowledge of roads and streets comes from the little over a month he has spent in it, trying to gently coerce shareholders from a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises to sell, hiding from Ra’s and waiting for Talia to book him an assassin. He plans the route they need to take to the Chinese Embassy aloud, barely sparing a glance to the map in Eddie’s cracked phone after seeing the address. 

“You seem to know your way around.” But Jason had never set a foot in Germany during his previous life, despite Barbara’s German tutoring. If someone had that kind of knowledge of him, who else but the only friend he’d ever had. 

The traffic chooses that moment to slow down, stop, so Eddie is now turning his head towards him, his face a poorly put together mask of neutrality. “How long, exactly, have you been back?” 

“About 15 months,” As far as he’s concerned, catatonia doesn’t count. 

“Oh, fuck you.” Eddie’s forehead ends up against the top of the steering wheel. Still hunched over, he asks “You were never coming back, were you?” 

Jason makes a noncommittal noise, starts picking at the now fraying sleeve of his hoodie. The traffic moves at a glacial pace, vehicles trickling into the city only little by little. What’s with cars and uncomfortable conversations?

“You know; last year has been hell…”

“Aren’t you all sidekicks making headlines now?” Including his replacement. 

“Just shut up,” Eddie says, Jason imagines he’s counting to ten in that big head of his.  “I’ll start over.” 

“I sort of quit for a while, then Dan left to monster hunt around the world, not long after that my aunt’s helicopter crashed in the middle of a desert.” 

Jason feels his own anger slip away, meaningless in face of guilt. Unable to deal with other people’s feelings, let alone grief, when he barely knows what to do with his own. “I’m sorry.” He says, mostly as a reflex.

“Everyone is.” He takes a shaky breath in. “I thought I could handle being on my own, it was either that or going back to my parents. But everything just got worse and when I decided to put my life back together I got wind that Dan had done something stupid but effective.” 

Eddie is smiling, the bitter kind that only comes when you admit your life is a joke. He’s been there. “He made a deal with a demon. I remember thinking that being a hero again would solve my problems. I sold my soul for these powers and I found out Dan sold my aunt.” 

Now he really feels bad for the pinecone, letting the  _ thing _ escape, and using him as a chauffeur. “It’s fine if you don’t care. I just can’t help but feel like having you there would have made it easier.” 

If the same words had been said to him a year ago they’d be easier to ignore, now he feels like an asshole. Technically he doesn’t owe him an explanation, in practice, there’s only so much he can stand seeing him so sad. “Well if that thing really is after me,” he's going to regret this, so much, “you should stick around.” 

 

* * *

 

When Eddie turns on the TV inside the so-called safe-house the channel is a Gotham news station. It is the only indication that Jason has even lived inside; the place looks like it's taken directly from some interior design catalog, impersonal and cold. 

The pastel teal color of the walls and matching throw pillows over off-white cushions, a glass coffee table with a decorative tray and actual drink coasters. Beside the armchair, there’s a smaller table with only a couple of books stacked on top of each other. Two are horror novels, the other is  _ Macbeth _ . 

He has no idea how everything is so sterile, even feels bad about tracking mud on the two-toned wood floor. Is tempted to grab the fuzzy looking throw blanket beside him on the couch but is afraid that he’ll just end up burning it or tearing it to pieces. 

One fact is that there’s never a slow night in Gotham. The reporter looks tired in her bright yellow raincoat, her red hair is kind of sticking to her face as a faint drizzle of rain goes on around her. In the background looms an old theater, not that anything in Gotham has the ability to look new, and her voice is more than a little frantic as she explains what’s going on. Batman is already in the scene, she tells the world, with audible relief. 

300 people hostage, another madman with a bomb. 

Suddenly driving a truck for six hours under somewhat pleasant weather, parking it in front of an embassy and running away doesn’t seem quite as heroic. 

Reflector light catches a girl in a purple costume making her way through the rooftop, swinging from one elaborate decoration to another. Noticing the attention she gives a little salute at the people directing the reflectors her way before slipping inside after forcing open a window. 

Tense minutes pass by; but soon after people finally start trickling out of the venue, first responders receiving them with shock blankets and the people with phones outside of the police line taking photos and trying to shove their way inside. 

It looks like most of the hostages are out when the building simply goes up in flames, the sound of pillars and windows breaking making him jump. The top is collapsing inwards, people running to get away, cars backing up, firetrucks taking the place of the ambulances to try to control the fire. 

If the reporter is affected she doesn’t show it, but the despair of everyone around her makes up for it. 

“Fucking typical,” Is what he hears Jason mutter behind him and when he turns around he sees him standing between the kitchen and the corridor that communicates to the only bedroom. He’s carrying a bandage and tape with his good arm, dressed in just sweatpants. His injuries have been dressed or pinched together by butterfly bandages. 

The status of the Gotham situation hasn’t changed much, another two people have exited the sagging building with extensive burns but no sign of the caped vigilantes. “I’m gonna need your help with this,” Jason says, extending the bandage and tape towards him, pretending to be unaffected by the news. 

Eddie stands up and takes it from his hands, trying to be careful with his claws and the delicate gauze. “What do you want me to do?”

Jason turns around, there are less recent injuries on his back but a lot more scars. He pokes at the biggest one, a diagonal line that starts almost where the bite from the creature ends and disappears beneath the waistline of the pants. A thousand gruesome images pass through his mind in quick succession. “How?”

“I got pushed off a cliff.” He says as if that happened to people all the time. Then he puts his hands on his hips and throws his shoulders back with a tiny groan of pain. “Wrap it a couple of times over my left arm.” 

And Eddie does, kind of. Well, he has to repeat it a couple of times to get the tension right. “What’s the next stop?” He's not yet convinced that he should  _ stick around _ as Jason had so eloquently put it. 

“Airport” Jason says through gritted teeth. Then he instructs Eddie to pull the bandage from below his armpit to the top of his shoulder, going down across his back and doing the same to the injured arm. From that on, the pattern becomes recognizable, he has, after all, wrapped his own sprains from time to time. 

The more time passes with no apparent change in the TV the more Jason digs his left hand into his hip, grip now so hard that he might bruise himself. “Where?” He asks he's not too concerned with that at the moment, too busy watching how the anxiety of the woman in the yellow raincoat increases. The information that crosses the bottom of the screen has nothing to do with Gotham at all, apparently, Metropolis is experiencing some bomb problems as well. 

“India,” Jason tells him, “I booked a jet.” A  _ whole _ jet, he probably means. With an extra seat. 

“Why India?” 

“Why didn't that thing kill me?” Jason asks a question in lieu of an answer. “If it had the chance, and believe me it did, why didn't it just do it? It dragged me into the forest, it was taking me somewhere…” 

The bandage is almost finished, so he wraps it on his arm for a second time and cuts stripes of tape to hold it. Isn’t satisfied with the stickiness and just circles his bicep with it. “Thanks,” Jason says when it's done. 

Eddie just pats his good shoulder as an acknowledgment. “Well, Deathstroke was in the forest.” 

“And he didn't kill me either; I don't think this is about me at all. I have a  _ sponsor  _ of sorts, she may be under attack and in that case, there's only one place, which I'm not supposed to know about, that she'd go to.” 

“A  _ sponsor _ ?” His voice probably sounds damning enough because Jason glares at him. 

“She saved me, I need to help her.” 

“If she’s hiding, wouldn’t you just be leading them there?” 

“If they know about me, then they're already close enough to her that it doesn't matter.” Then he adds, “I don't think you should come…” He runs a hand through his hair, “but, fire is always useful.” Jason has never been one to overestimate abilities. And if he thinks Eddie has a handle of his own enough to be of use, he's not going to contradict him. 

Or maybe it's just that per his own admission Eddie is as pathetically alone as Jason looks and most likely is. 

Eddie thinks about Deathstroke, of what he just let go in order to help Jason (and the kids), considers the benefits of staying or tracking down another magician with a penchant for demon hunting. Comes to the horrifying conclusion that the obvious choice is Dan Cassidy. “If we survive this, you'll  _ owe _ me, big time.” 

In Gotham, the theatre keeps burning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering, Steph got Bruce out of the building, but he wasn't very happy about it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
